This is not the way you want to feel about your father.
When I was little, I’d always thought that my dad was right about everything and that there wasn’t a man on earth he couldn’t take.
But standing there looking in, I realized that Mr. Baker could squash him like a bug.
Worse, though, was the way he was acting. Watching my dad chum it up with Juli’s dad—it was like seeing him lie.
To Mr. Baker, to Juli, to my grandfather—to everybody.
Why was he being such a worm? Why couldn’t he just act normal?
You know, civil? Why did he have to put on such a phony show?
This went way beyond keeping the peace with my mother. This was disgusting.
And people said I was the spitting image of my father. How often had I heard that one?
I’d never thought about it much, but now it was turning my stomach.
Mom jingled the dinner bell and called, “Hors d’oeuvres are ready!” and then saw me still standing in the hallway.
“Bryce, where’d your sister and the boys go?”
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